


I Dream Of You

by AppleSeeds, Navy_Bird



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: #awakethesnake, Affection, Awake the Snake (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams, Fanart, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentioned Beelzebub (Good Omens), Mentioned Gabriel (Good Omens), Mentioned Hastur (Good Omens), Mentioned Sandalphon, Mentioned Uriel (Good Omens), Nightmares, Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 08:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27348178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSeeds/pseuds/AppleSeeds, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Navy_Bird/pseuds/Navy_Bird
Summary: After their telephone conversation in October, Crowley goes back to sleep and Aziraphale regrets not accepting his offer to slither over to the bookshop back in May. He's missing Crowley terribly so decides to visit him in his dreams, and finds the courage to start more openly demonstrating his affection for his best friend.Original idea and artwork by Navy_Bird, story written by AppleSeeds.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 163





	I Dream Of You

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by Navy_Bird posting this on Twitter:  
> The only reason Crowley stayed asleep is that Aziraphale popped into his dream, like angels can do, and they've been going on dates there since the start of the pandemic
> 
> Navy_Bird also created the absolutely GORGEOUS dreamlike artwork to go with the story!! <3
> 
> In case anyone hasn't seen it, Neil Gaiman posted something (basically a ficlet) about Crowley waking up in October after he'd re-set his alarm in July and phoning Aziraphale to ask whether it was all over yet. This fic starts at the end of that conversation!

**October 2020**

“Right, well, thanks for that incredibly _cheerful_ update,” Crowley mumbled sarcastically. “It probably goes without saying that I’m going back to sleep now.”

“Oh... oh, well, yes, of course. Sleep well, Crowley.”

“Goodnight, angel.”

With that, Crowley hung up the phone. After months of waiting, Aziraphale’s opportunity to speak to him had ended, and a longing ache started building in his chest once again, accompanied by the questioning voice of regret in his mind. If he had explained the situation differently, if he had explained about the option of different households being able to come together now, would Crowley have decided to stay awake? Would Crowley have wanted to see him?

Aziraphale had to remind himself that it was _he_ who had rejected Crowley’s suggestion that they spend the lockdown together back in May. After everything that had happened in the run-up to the previously-scheduled Armageddon, he _still_ struggled with breaking the rules. Aziraphale felt his eyes prick with tears to remember once again that he had squandered his opportunity, not only to see Crowley, but for them to potentially _live_ together, even if it would have only been short-term. If Aziraphale _had_ allowed Crowley to come over to the bookshop back in May, they would both have agreed it best for him to stay there, rather than for Crowley to be seen out and about, which might have given the humans ideas.

The situation now was that it would no longer be breaking the rules for Crowley to come over to the bookshop, and Aziraphale was desperate to see his best friend. In the past, they had spent centuries apart, but now, after they had grown so close, to even spend a week apart felt like torture. Of course, Aziraphale could understand Crowley’s desire to sleep through all of this; for a demon, Crowley really did struggle to watch humans suffering and was easily susceptible to boredom. That did, however, leave Aziraphale feeling rather lost and alone, and this time, Crowley hadn’t even stipulated for how long he planned to sleep.

Aziraphale wished there was a way to see Crowley and to spend time with him as if all of this wasn’t going on, but he wasn’t the antichrist, he couldn’t change reality. The only reality he could cultivate was within his own mind, where he imagined all of the places he wanted to go with Crowley, all of the conversations he wanted to have, all of the words and gestures of affection he wished he had been brave enough to share with Crowley while he’d had the chance.

With the promise that Heaven and Hell would leave them alone, Aziraphale had felt like he had all the time in the world, that there was no rush. He had decided that one day, when it felt right, he would explore the idea of himself and Crowley taking another step forward in their relationship, but had felt that he could afford to take his time. Now, recognising that this new life of theirs wasn’t actually without barriers beyond their control, and with no idea how long he might have to wait for the opportunity to share his feelings with Crowley, he felt a much greater sense of urgency, but was unable to act on it.

As Aziraphale tried to keep himself busy with his books and his baking, he wondered what might be going through Crowley’s mind while he slept. That’s when the idea occurred to him. Angels could perform _visitations_ during dreams. He was fairly certain no angel had ever attempted to do so with a _demon_ before, but then, it was already well established that he was _not_ like other angels.

So, settling himself comfortably in his armchair, Aziraphale closed his eyes and transported himself into Crowley’s mind, finding himself unexpectedly in the passenger seat of the Bentley. As soon as he registered his surroundings, he instinctively gripped the edge of his seat.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Crowley asked, but, of course, this wasn’t a _conscious_ version of Crowley, and he would, presumably, just respond to Aziraphale as if his image had been conjured by his own mind.

“I just wanted to speak to you.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know, really. How have you been?”

“How have I _been_?” Crowley challenged incredulously, taking his eyes off the road. Aziraphale’s stomach somersaulted and he had to remind himself that the vehicles apparently speeding towards them weren’t actually real and posed no danger. Discorporation was much more concerning now that he couldn’t just rely on Heaven to provide him with another body. “Wait, where are we going?”

“ _You’re_ the one driving. For someone who doesn’t know where he’s going you do seem to be in quite a hurry to get there. Perhaps you could consider slowing down?” Aziraphale urged, gripping more tightly onto the edge of his seat.

“This doesn’t make sense; as if you’d ever agree to go with me without me telling you where.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m not entirely averse to surprises.”

“I have never known a greater creature of habit in over six thousand years.”

“Well, maybe I have some habits I need to break,” Aziraphale ventured, then let out a yelp as he felt himself being flung forwards as Crowley slammed on the brakes.

“Wait! We’re not supposed to be out! There’s a pandemic going on!” Crowley’s eyebrows knitted together and he turned to face Aziraphale. “Am I dreaming?”

With that, Aziraphale felt himself being expelled from Crowley’s mind, finding himself back in the bookshop. He took a deep breath and blinked a few times, readjusting to his surroundings. That hadn’t quite gone how he’d expected, although, truth be told, he hadn’t been entirely sure _what_ to expect. Still, it had been wonderful to see Crowley, and even if they had only seen each other and bickered for a couple of minutes, it had certainly left Aziraphale wanting more. He closed his eyes again and focused once more on Crowley.

This time, he appeared inside Crowley’s flat. He could hear Crowley yelling, at his plants, presumably, and followed the sound.

“Crowley?”

“Aziraphale? What are you doing here?”

“Oh... I... brought wine.” Aziraphale materialised a bottle of wine in the hand he was holding behind his back and presented it to Crowley.

“Oh. All right.”

Aziraphale looked past Crowley to the plants. They looked just as verdant as their counterparts in the waking world, but there was something unusual about them. At the base of their lush, green leaves, just above the roots, they had faces. The one Aziraphale was studying looked like Gabriel. Crowley evidently caught him staring at it.

“Oh, yeah, I know. Hideous, isn’t it? That one’s destined for the shredder, and the same goes for the rest of you if you don’t behave yourselves!”

Aziraphale bit back a grin. Perhaps, if he was able to stay in this dream of Crowley’s for long enough, he might even be permitted a role in disposing of the offending plant, which _would_ be rather satisfying.

Having been ejected unceremoniously from Crowley’s last dream, Aziraphale was careful not to do or say anything to make Crowley question his surroundings as they sat down and started drinking the wine. They talked, not about anything of consequence, and certainly not about the current situation, and Aziraphale touched his hand to his face, even in this artificial reality finding that his cheeks were aching from how much he was smiling at Crowley.

When he got up to leave, Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly, giving him one last beaming smile. He’d always wanted to do that. Why hadn’t he, when he’d had so many chances? That’s the trouble with eternity, when you can always delay something for another day, it’s so easy for it to never actually happen.

“Thank you for having me,” he offered politely. Crowley stared down at Aziraphale’s hand on his shoulder for a few seconds, his brow furrowed, and Aziraphale’s insides twisted with uncertainty. But then Crowley looked up at him, lips parted, scrutinising him for a moment before he too smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. Sure,” he muttered by way of reply, and then Aziraphale tenderly rubbed his thumb over Crowley’s shoulder before withdrawing and showing himself out.

Over the next few weeks, Aziraphale became a regular visitor to Crowley’s dreams. He started to wonder how much of their time together Crowley might remember when he eventually woke up, and whether he would realise that Aziraphale had been visiting him. Presumably, if he remembered the dreams then he _would_ infer this, given the sheer number of dreams he would have found himself having involving Aziraphale. Surely that wasn’t normal for him.

With humans, angels could only visit their dreams if the human in question was amenable to the idea, and so Aziraphale assumed the same was true for demons, and was therefore pleasantly surprised that with the exception of that first attempt, Crowley’s mind had not rejected him. If anything, he seemed to be becoming more and more receptive.

Somehow, it was easier to be brave in these settings than it was in real life, and although Aziraphale knew they would need to talk properly about all of this when Crowley did eventually wake up, that didn’t stop him from testing the boundaries of the affection he demonstrated towards him.

Whenever they walked side-by-side through St James’s Park, they shuffled so close together that their arms brushed up against each other, and neither made any move to increase the distance between them. On one occasion, Crowley’s dream featured Hastur being attacked by an entire gaggle of geese, and Crowley had grabbed hold of Aziraphale’s arm as he laughed at the scene in front of him. Aziraphale only caught the briefest glimpse of the spectacle, attention focused on the way Crowley’s face lit up when he laughed. Nothing, not the rarest book of prophecy or the most perfectly-baked cake, gave Aziraphale greater pleasure than seeing Crowley so relaxed and happy.

They spent many dreams together in the park, sometimes walking, sometimes feeding the ducks, sometimes just sat side-by-side either talking or in companionable silence. Aziraphale was starting to find the experience rather addictive. This was partially because it was nice to have the _feeling_ of being outside enjoying the world they had worked so hard to try to save. Primarily, however, it was because every time Aziraphale was brave enough to demonstrate affection towards Crowley, it was always accepted, and more and more frequently it was even reciprocated. Sometimes, Crowley would even accept his compliments.

On one occasion, they shared a picnic, and Aziraphale reached out and placed his hand on top of Crowley’s on the blanket. After a brief moment, Crowley rotated his wrist and laced their fingers together.

“We don’t normally do this,” Crowley observed.

“Perhaps we should start.”

“I’d like that,” Crowley murmured softly after a pause, and Aziraphale beamed at him.

Aziraphale particularly enjoyed Crowley’s dreams that were set in the bookshop. At first, these tended to involve them sat together enjoying bottle after bottle of wine, Aziraphale in his usual armchair and Crowley on the sofa. One day, Aziraphale decided to be brave once again and actually sit _beside_ Crowley. As time progressed, they drew closer and closer together, Aziraphale ultimately leaning his head against Crowley’s shoulder.

“Will you let me thank you? For everything you’ve ever done for me?” Aziraphale murmured softly.

“Don’t thank me, angel.”

“But it doesn’t matter what they think of you in Hell anymore, does it?”

“I don’t need your gratitude, Aziraphale. I never did any of it for that.”

“Then will you let me apologise? I should have trusted you more. I never should have doubted you.”

Crowley shuffled away slightly and looked down at him.

“Why are you saying this now?”

“Well, I’ve recently come to realise that we shouldn’t wait to say what’s important. You never know what unexpected barriers might appear.”

“There are no barriers, Aziraphale. There won’t be for a long time, I shouldn’t think. No head offices to worry about. We have all the time in the world.”

“Right,” Aziraphale murmured sadly, snuggling back against Crowley’s shoulder.

“But if there was anything to forgive, I’d forgive you. You must know that. Some things don’t need to be said with words.”

The next time they found themselves in the bookshop and Aziraphale sat down beside Crowley on the sofa, Crowley swung his legs up over Aziraphale’s lap.

“I’m not a cushion, my dear,” Aziraphale chastised with poorly-veiled delight.

“I don’t know about that; you’re pretty comfortable,” Crowley smirked, squirming a little to settle himself in this new position. Aziraphale sighed reproachfully and then moved one of his hands, clasping it gently around Crowley’s ankle. He felt Crowley’s muscles tense beneath his grip.

“At least try to keep still, please.” Aziraphale glanced to his side, seeing Crowley’s gaze locked on where his hand was still holding his ankle. “Would you like me to move my hand?”

“If you do I’ll just wriggle more,” Crowley grinned.

“Better not then,” Aziraphale smiled. Crowley leaned back and closed his eyes, and Aziraphale squeezed his ankle more tightly before ultimately allowing his wrist to rotate and his fingers to trace patterns up and down just beneath the fabric of Crowley’s trousers.

On one occasion, Aziraphale found himself joining Crowley back at Tadfield Manor.

“What are we doing here?” Crowley asked.

“Presumably looking for information about the antichrist.”

“Presumably? I thought we’d sorted all that. What’s going on?”

Aziraphale expected Crowley to realise he was dreaming at any moment and for his mind to eject him from the dream, just as it had done when they were in the Bentley. When this didn’t happen, Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder whether Crowley knew exactly what was going on.

“Oh _right_ , this is where we were when you called me _nice_. You really shouldn’t have done that.”

“Well, I _would_ apologise but I’m afraid I do rather stand by it. I think you’re extremely nice.”

Aziraphale wondered why this moment had great enough prominence in Crowley’s vast memories to be chosen as the setting for one of his dreams.

“Sounds like you want me to pin you up against the wall again,” Crowley teased. Aziraphale felt the colour rise in his cheeks.

“What? No! That’s preposterous!” he spluttered.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really! Good heavens!”

Crowley moved quickly towards Aziraphale as if he intended to repeat his actions from the last time they were here, and Aziraphale instinctively took a step backwards towards the wall. Crowley laughed and Aziraphale clucked his tongue.

“Really, Crowley!”

“Don’t worry, you’re fine!” Crowley chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to ruffle that stylish outfit,” he teased, and Aziraphale was trying to prepare a retort when Crowley reached out towards him. Crowley slowly and carefully straightened his bowtie and then smoothed down the lapels of his jacket with both hands. Aziraphale’s eyes widened and his lips parted, enraptured with watching Crowley adjusting his clothes. When Crowley looked up and met his gaze, Aziraphale’s breathing quickened and he withdrew rapidly from the dream, gasping for breath as his eyes opened back in the bookshop.

_Oh, Crowley..._

Of course, there was the issue that all of these scenarios weren’t actually _real_ ; they were being generated within Crowley’s mind. Aziraphale wondered how much of Crowley’s behaviour and response was truly _him_ and how much of it would carry over into the waking world. As a result, Aziraphale had been cautious not to step _too far_ over their pre-existing boundaries, no matter how much he may have wanted to, but Crowley had made that extremely difficult in that last scenario.

One night, when Aziraphale materialised in Crowley’s dream, intense dread accompanied him as he surveyed his surroundings. They were in Heaven, and Aziraphale immediately recognised what he was seeing, although it didn’t reflect what had actually happened in reality. He saw another version of himself, tied to a chair beside a tower of burning hellfire. Crowley was on his hands and knees in front of the archangels, with Gabriel sneering down at him. Aziraphale couldn’t decipher what he was saying, but he could discern that Crowley was pleading with Gabriel, and his pleas were not being well-received.

Aziraphale watched as Uriel and Sandalphon restrained Crowley, and Gabriel untied the ropes binding this version of himself to the chair, before hauling him up and throwing him into the fire. Aziraphale gaped at the scene unfolding in front of him, immobilised for a second as Crowley cried out and tried to reach out for the version of Aziraphale created by his mind.

“Crowley!” he yelled, rushing over to him and grabbing hold of his shoulders, trying to steady him.

“Aziraphale?”

“That wasn’t me, Crowley. This didn’t happen,” he said with urgency. “You saved me, remember? You protected me, just as you always have. This isn’t real.”

Crowley’s eyes were glazed with tears, and he reached out for Aziraphale, tentatively at first, but then as soon as his hands came into contact with him, he threw himself into Aziraphale’s arms. Aziraphale held onto him, clutching him tightly against his chest as Crowley trembled and cried. Was the idea of losing him a real fear that Crowley had experienced? Aziraphale’s heart ached at the thought, and he pulled Crowley even closer.

The wasn’t the only nightmare of Crowley’s that Aziraphale visited. On multiple occasions, he had the unpleasant experience of revisiting Hell. Once in his waking life had been _quite_ enough thank you, and he hated to see the change in Crowley’s demeanour in his dream world whenever Hell provided the setting.

On the most recent occasion, Aziraphale found himself unable to restrain himself as Crowley was subjected to the torments of Beelzebub, and threw himself between them, launching into a passionate tirade in Crowley’s defence. Crowley simply watched him incredulously as Aziraphale described everything that made Crowley completely, undeniably _wonderful_ , until eventually the offending demon backed off and Aziraphale escorted Crowley back upstairs to safer territory.

“Thank you,” Crowley murmured sincerely.

“I was hardly going to stand for them speaking to you that way. Besides, none of what they were saying was true. As well you know, I should think.”

Crowley simply shrugged. “Let’s have lunch,” he suggested.

“That’s a wonderful idea.”

Instantaneously, the dreamscape shifted and Aziraphale found himself sat with Crowley at their usual table at the Ritz.

“So, did you really mean everything you just said about me?”

“Of course I did!”

“You really think highly of me, don’t you?” Crowley smirked.

“Yes, I do. I should have thought that was obvious.”

Crowley mumbled indecipherably in response, then reached out and took Aziraphale’s hand in his own and squeezed it. Aziraphale beamed at him.

“I know it’s you, Aziraphale,” Crowley said softly. Aziraphale furrowed his brow.

“Well, of course it’s me.”

“No, I mean, I know it’s actually _you_. I know I’m dreaming and I know you’ve been visiting my dreams.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale glanced away sheepishly. He wondered at what point Crowley had become aware of this fact, and furthermore, how much of the casual intimacy they had shared had been intentionally directed by Crowley. He felt his pulse quicken, focusing on their joined hands resting on the table. “Well, that’s all right, isn’t it? I do hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind, but if you were so desperate to spend time with me why did you turn me down when I offered to come over in May?”

“Well, the rules were different then,” Aziraphale pouted. Crowley appeared unconvinced and raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale huffed out a breath. “Oh, yes, all right, because I’m an idiot.”

“You said it, not me.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I really _have_ been an idiot, haven’t I, Crowley?”

“You _really_ want me to say it?”

“No, not really,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry. I’ve spent months regretting it, after everything you did to show me that I’m capable of making my own decisions about what’s right for me, when it came down to it, I still couldn’t bring myself to break the rules.”

Crowley rested his chin on his unoccupied hand and leaned closer to Aziraphale.

“You know I don’t mind waiting.”

“I think we’ve both done enough _waiting_ , my dear.”

“You want me to wake up, don’t you?”

“Well, as fascinating as it has been to explore your dreams, it would be nice to actually see you.”

“If I do wake up, will you be there? You said the restrictions weren’t so stringent now?”

“Do you want me to be there?” Aziraphale murmured softly. Crowley squeezed his hand harder.

“What do _you_ think?”

Aziraphale smiled bashfully and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he found himself back in the bookshop. He rose from his armchair and headed for the kitchen, retrieving a tin full of freshly-baked Victoria sponge cake.

With a quick miracle, Aziraphale transported himself into Crowley’s flat. He listened carefully for any sign that Crowley had awoken, but hearing no movement, he headed for his bedroom. Quietly pushing the door open, he found Crowley still sleeping soundly on his bed, which was a relief. If he’d been on the ceiling, Aziraphale might have needed to poke him with a broom or something, and that might not have ended well.

Aziraphale watched him for a moment, breathing softly and rhythmically, with his hair, which had grown out a little, falling slightly across his face. Aziraphale tilted his head and smiled affectionately, then crossed the room and sat on the bed beside him. He reached out and smoothed Crowley’s hair back away from his eyes, and Crowley stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

“Hi, angel.”

“Hello, Crowley.”

“I take it the world still resembles a giant pile of festering buboes?”

“It does rather, yes, I’m afraid so.”

“You’d better make it worth my while waking up then,” Crowley grumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

“I brought cake!” Aziraphale announced, proudly brandishing the tin he’d brought with him.

“Oh, well, in that case,” Crowley retorted sarcastically.

“I don’t want to be away from you again, Crowley,” Aziraphale responded sincerely.

“Want to get in for a while?” Crowley lifted the blankets and patted the space on the bed next to him invitingly. “We can have cake later, I promise.”

“I’d love to,” Aziraphale smiled and scooted closer to Crowley.

“Not dressed like that.” Crowley raised his hand to halt Aziraphale’s movements. For the first time, Aziraphale glanced down from Crowley’s face and took in his attire. He was wearing black silk pyjamas, which, in fairness, did look extremely comfortable. Aziraphale made a show of rolling his eyes and then miracled himself into something of a similar design, albeit a different colour palette.

“Oh, it _would_ have to be tartan wouldn’t it?” Crowley groaned. “And _don’t_ say it’s stylish. Those pyjamas are an affront to fashion.”

“You really have no sense of style at all, do you, my dear?” Aziraphale teased. Crowley gawked at him.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you. I feel much the same way about you.”

Crowley smiled fondly. “Come here.”

Aziraphale clambered under the covers and Crowley held his arm out, allowing Aziraphale to snuggle against him before he draped his arm over him and pulled him closer. Aziraphale felt Crowley press a tender kiss to the top of his head, and a pleasant shiver spread through his body. He nuzzled Crowley’s shoulder and started softly running his hand over the luxurious fabric covering Crowley’s chest.

“When this is all over,” Crowley murmured into his hair, “what do you say we get out of the city? We could get a little cottage together, somewhere quiet.”

“I think that’s a splendid idea.”

“I’ve read wonderful things about Devil’s Dyke.”

“ _Devil’s Dyke_? Seriously?”

“You’ll love it, trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Aziraphale responded sincerely, stilling the movement of his hand and instead wrapping his arm around Crowley to draw him into a proper cuddle. “I _love_ you.”

“I love you too.”

They remained that way for several hours, and for that time, it didn’t matter what was going on in the rest of the world. Just for now, all that mattered was that they had finally found their way together. It was like a dream come true.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed! <3


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